


blossoming dead lungs

by yolkpoet



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkpoet/pseuds/yolkpoet
Summary: Camille's voice never quite leaves his head.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	blossoming dead lungs

It’s two thousand and some odd years, and Magnus wonders if it weren’t for the self-healing magic in him, he’d be deaf from the amount of clubs he’s been to. He wonders if it weren’t for the self-sabotaging tendencies in him, he wouldn’t be in a club tonight. As it is, there are several bodies pressed against him - each more alluring than the next - and he’s bored out of his mind. He hasn’t moved for the past hour and the monotonous way a glass of vodka tonic is being lifted towards him is putting him to sleep. 

It’s between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m., and Magnus is thinking about calling it a night when there’s a crash in the distance. There’s a commotion, a ripple of energy through the room, and Magnus is instantly set into motion. A sick thrill goes up his spine as he tries to find the source of the chaos. 

Instead, he finds a boy. 

He’s tall and his hair is such a curly, shaggy mess that it’s endearing instead of simply unkempt. He’s frowning and his big hands are swinging around a bow and arrow like they’re an extension of him. There’s a distant scream that sounds like it’s Magnus’ own as he catches golden blue eyes - or green. Or, honey brown. Something miraculous and glittery and sharp. Even with them half hidden in shadows. 

Magnus breathes out and it feels like his lungs work for the first time in a hundred years.

“Who,” he wonders out loud as the boy - the _man_ \- is bending down to examine the body of the demon he just put an arrow through, “are you?”

The man picks up the knife the demon had been clutching and tosses it in the air before catching it again. There’s a phantom, reciprocal twist and fall in his chest. 

_Oh, Magnus. Again?_

For the first time in a hundred years, Camille’s warning falls on deaf ears.

  
  


Addicted to the sting of rejection, Magnus spends the next few weeks vying for the attention of a _Shadowhunter_ \- of all the creatures in this big, big world. There’s something about the fine line between the Lightwood boy rolling his eyes and _Alexander’s_ lips twitching ever so slightly in quickly suppressed humor. Magnus finds himself hooked on it. Absolutely infatuated by it. Compulsively, he shows up time and time again, and gets himself all tangled up in things he wishes he didn’t care for. 

_Pathetic, little warlock._

Magnus can’t help but agree. 

Then, Alexander breaks his heart by telling him he’s getting married. If it weren’t for the fact that Alexander never made any promises, Magnus would be up in flames with the betrayal. He still feels the heat of it spreading over his skin and he wears it like a battle wound every time he sees Alexander next. It feels pointless. Like he’s asking the soldier to apologise for the foreign arrows in Magnus’ chest. They’re not his fault and he doesn’t owe Magnus a thing no matter how much he bleeds out. 

When Isabelle invites him to the wedding, he decides he’s going to show up - arrows and all - for one last look at-

_Someone who doesn’t love you? Look and look again, my darling. All around you, there are countless, are there not? Must a wedding be interrupted just so you can add one more to the list?_

Why not?

  
  


Magnus hears Alexander’s footsteps like thunder claps as he walks away from the altar and eats up the distance between them with purpose. Long, thin, sure fingers grab Magnus by the front of his jacket and he’s kissed with the passion of a man intent on destroying tradition. 

Camille is just a hum in his head because the rest is fireworks and ocean waves and tectonic shifts. She is so very small as she says, _You’re a statement, little Magnus._

_If it were up to him, he’d have kissed any number of downworlders just to get out of that stifling marriage. And, you know that, don’t you?_

He does.

_Then, stop kissing him_. 

He couldn’t possibly. 

  
  


When Camille shows up in New York, the Camille inside his head grows absurdly louder as if feeding off of the real thing. As Camille plants little seeds of doubt in his head, in Alexander’s head, Magnus is left helpless and hopeless. He suddenly feels all seven odd centuries of his life on his shoulders and he’s afraid he might sink right into the core of the earth with the weight of it. Her fingers are hooks in his arms and her lips are cold and unloving as they press against his mouth. It feels like 1890 again. It feels like nothing has changed. 

Alexander seems subdued by her words even after she’s gone, as if she’s inside _his_ head too. Nothing has changed. His immortality is a curse in the eyes of a lover - yet again. And, still, despite it all, Magnus lets himself put a little bit more of his sanity in Alexander’s hands.

You _haven’t changed. Stupid, little warlock_. 

  
  


Used to being an afterthought, at first it doesn’t bother him that Alexander hasn’t kissed him a second time. Or, remembered that date they were supposed to go on. In fact, there’s enough going on in the shadow realm to occupy his time and his thoughts. Until there isn’t. 

Magnus watches Alexander go through turmoil and guilt and self-hate. It feels familiar. He remembers the first few chips in his armour and how much he’d cradled them to his chest, breaking with the crushing pressure of them. How achingly slow he’d picked at his wounds, as if he enjoyed looking hurt. 

He tries to be helpful, but Alexander slips further and further out of his reach. And, then, he physically yanks himself out of Magnus’ reach and looks at him with such cold indifference that it spreads to every corner of his soul. On some level, Magnus gets it. Parabatai bonds are something unique, weighted, and the fear of losing one must feel life-threatening. On another level, Magnus feels like he’s sitting perched up on a pile of things Alec Lightwood couldn’t care less about. 

When Alexander comes to apologise, his magic has extra sparks to it in honor of his anger, but as he tries to lash out, his magic has the nerve to deflect away from the Shadowhunter. Annoyed, he lets the man scramble for words. 

_Oh, please. Don’t act like you won’t eat it up. He’s already offered you more than anyone else._

Acceptance of the apology is quick on his lips after that. 

  
  


Magnus suggests the Hunters Moon for their first date, hoping it’ll be loud and hectic enough to mute Camille for a while, just for a few hours. As his luck would have it, he wrecks the mood all by himself. As silence hangs over them on their walk home, he thinks he should have just agreed to _seventeen_. He should have just nodded and that beautiful, perfect grin on Alexander’s face, the open look of relief, would have stayed. And, maybe he’d get another kiss and Alexander would put his beautiful, perfect hands on him again. 

_Maybe if you weren’t such a desperate whore, you’d look a little more virtuous for your sweet, sweet soldier boy._

Maybe.

_But, you can’t help it, can you?_

He can’t.

_You give yourself up for any semblance of affection. It’s surprising the number isn’t in millions given how inherently_ lonely _you are._

Yes, it could be worse. 

Still. Seventeen thousand feels like too many mistakes to make excuses for. When Alexander looks for a way out, Magnus readily provides it. Then, something strange happens. 

Alexander doesn’t leave. Instead, he moves impossibly close and bends his neck so he can kiss Magnus. It feels as catastrophic as their first kiss, but there’s a sweetness to it, a novelty to it. There aren’t a hundred people watching them. Alexander’s parents aren’t clutching their pearls over the salacious entry of tongues into mouths. No one is getting into trouble and the world isn’t ending. They just had their first date and Alexander doesn’t _care_ how many people Magnus has been with. He came back. He didn’t leave. 

_But, he will, my darling. He will leave. Maybe not tonight, but soon. You’re always only fun for as long as your sparkly and new._

It doesn’t matter. Alexander Gideon Lightwood didn’t leave Magnus Bane and for tonight, that’s enough. 

  
  


The first date turns out to be a one-off. Every date they have after is fun, exciting, and Magnus’ cheeks hurt from smiling so much lately. They go to every corner of the earth, but he wonders why they even bother when they end up wrapped up in each other anyway. Nothing Paris or Bangkok or Havana has to offer can tear Magnus’ eyes away from Alexander. It doesn’t matter that Camille follows them to every corner of the earth, too. She’s not so loud - well, not all the time. 

Then, his boyfriend waves a little black bag in front of his face and Magnus holds it tenderly in his hands, wondering, “Me?” 

“Yes, you,” Alexander urges, already impatient, “Open it.”

It’s a red charm as big as his thumb and the innocence behind the purchase makes his heart clench. He’s transfixed by the golden pattern, wants to memorise every detail for absolutely no reason. 

“It’s supposed to bring you luck and protection.”

Magnus isn’t sure how he could get any luckier and as he looks up at the soft smile on Alexander’s face, standing tall in his pride at his purchase, he doesn’t think he’ll need protection either. 

_But, you do, my darling. You need protection from yourself and your silly dreams._

Desperate to ignore her, he steps forward and says, “Thank you, Alexander.”

_Foolish_.

“You continue to surprise me.”

_It’s surprising, isn’t it? That he hasn’t run for the hills yet. It’s always around this time._

“Good ways, I hope,” Alexander says.

_If he knows what’s_ good _for him._

Helpless, Magnus can only lean in for a kiss. 

  
  


They spend a considerable time making out, but on the odd occasion where they’re both too busy to, Magnus finds him at a bar pouring his heart out to Maia Roberts. He’s been twisting around the charm in his hands since he got it and seems to have some compulsion for pulling it out of his pocket just to look at it. When Maia asks him about it, he says it’s a gift. The word feels foreign on his tongue. Almost to himself, he admits he can’t remember the last time someone got him one.

_But, remember what you went through to get me that ruby? And, how I wore it for someone else in Prague and you stayed home waiting for me? You forget so easily._

“Is it from someone special?” she asks.

Alexander’s face flashes before him, in various states of emotion like a gradient of anger, sadness, despair, and unadulterated happiness.

“I think so,” he admits.

_Pathetic_.

  
  


Their impudent roommate has made a rare disappearance and Magnus is trying to enjoy a quiet evening to himself, bustling around his workspace. Just then, a knock at his front door alerts him and a second before, his magic lets him know Alexander is about to knock. He pauses in his stride and changes course towards the door, confusing already coloring his features as he opens the door. An agitated Alexander is asking for Jace’s whereabouts and when Magnus tells him his parabatai left hours ago, his face is between two big hands and he’s being kissed with passion - or, urgency. 

Pulling himself away with a confused, shaky laugh, Magnus asks if Alexander is okay and he’s met with wide eyes and innocent declarations. 

_What did you expect, darling? Sex is all you’re good for, after all. All you’re good at. If it weren’t for the lusts your body provides, wouldn’t lovers have left even sooner? You might as well tie him to your bed when you have the chance._

Taken aback, Magnus explains that he’s not the only one who feels vulnerable. He remembers what he’d said months ago, telling Alexander that he was new for him, too. Because, he _is_. He’s so different from anyone else Magnus has met. A lethal shadowhunter with his heart spilling over, too big for his chest, and honesty that comes like second nature. It’s reeling. It’s bewitching. It’s everything Magnus thought he could never have.

And, here he is again, this beautiful man. Looking at Magnus like he wants to look at him forever. It’s heady. 

It’s-

_Temporary?_

Temporary. 

But, then, Alexander is smiling wide and shaking away his doubts as if he can’t fathom Magnus losing him. He laughs a little, even, as if the notion is not only unfathomable - it’s ridiculous. Feeling a surge of affection, Magnus can’t help but let himself be swept away as Alexander walks towards him again with every intention of wrecking him. 

_Yes, there you go. Open your legs for him and maybe he’ll keep you around for a little while_. 

Camille is white noise as Alexander falls on the bed and laughs angelically when Magnus cages him in. Half-closed eyes glitter with adoration and a thousand things Magnus isn’t sure he deserves, and his heart clenches tight and when they kiss again, it feels like it’s going to fall out of his mouth. For the tiniest of seconds, his control slips and his glamour falls away before he can stop it. 

With a wince, he straightens up and away from Alexander. 

_I always preferred your glamoured eyes. I could pretend I was wasting my time on a vampire. Not some half-breed._

Under the guidance of Alexander’s hands, he lets his head be turned and he hopes the fear he feels isn’t reflected quite as blatantly on his face. Something about the kind way Alexander smiles tells him he can’t glamour his emotions either. 

“They’re beautiful.”

Everything falls still and Magnus feels like a million colors are going to burst out of his chest.

“ _You’re_ beautiful.”

It’s said with such conviction, such irrefutable affection, that even Camille shuts up for a second. 

  
  


Nothing prepares him for seeing Alexander closing his eyes and letting his body fall back. Magnus’ magic catches him and brings him down in a cloud of soft blue tenderness. Later, when the party is over and Magnus can properly fuss over his boyfriend, he puts him to bed and mutters a little incantation to bless him with a dreamless sleep. There’s only so much suicidal rhetoric one should have to suffer through in one day.

He’s surprised, almost, by the fact that his Alexander has a Camille inside his head too. Inner demons. Ferocious and younger than Magnus’ but no doubt just as adept at breaking him open. And, all this while, Magnus had been so busy trying to mute his voices that he didn’t notice Alexander struggling with his own. Maybe they were both flawed that way. So caught up in their own webs that they didn’t think it’d be simpler to cut each other loose rather than suffocate by themselves. 

He gently picks up a vagrant curl on Alexander’s forehead to tuck it back against his hairline and sighs. 

_Finally found one as broken as you?_

He quickly mutters a sleep incantation for himself. 

  
  


Growing up with a dead mother, a violent stepfather, and a demon birth father isn’t exactly the sort of things great people are made of. It’s the sort of thing that predates a killer, a thief. Certainly not a paternal figure. Nevertheless, Magnus ends up picking strays along his many centuries and one of his absolute favourites is Raphael Santiago. A grouchy vampire with a stiff outlook on life and a penchant for stiff drinks. He’s the shadows to Magnus’ flair and if he hadn’t once tortured and killed a fledging for trying to kill Magnus, he’d believe the vampire didn’t have a single emotion except nonchalance. 

Then, his boy gets his heart stuck on a Lightwood. Of all the addicts in town. 

Alexander is a storm when he finds out - bringing with him every intention of murder when he catches Raphael and Isabelle in a rather compromising state. He looks like he won’t stop punching Raphael’s face until it’s unrecognisable, so Magnus has to bind his fist in the air and _yank_ until he gives up. 

In a second, Alexander is moving fluidly to his feet and turning bright, bold anger towards Magnus. 

“This is my family!” he shouts. 

_And, you’re not, little Magnus. You’re not anyone’s family. Not his. Not Raphael’s. Not any downworlder you think you’ve adopted._

“I didn’t know,” he tries desperately, but it falls on deaf ears.

“You knew enough,” Alexander spits out, accusations so clear in his eyes that they’re almost outweighing the anger. 

_Orphaned yet again._

Isabelle is pliable due to exhaustion as Alexander grabs her and hauls her up towards the door, sparing Magnus one last blistering glare. It works like a dagger into Magnus’ chest - quick and painful and not very subtle at all with its purpose. 

He cleans Raphael up and tries to reason with him, but his boy is as defiant as he’s raised him. He sends the vampire on his way later than he means to. Probably to shorten the time he has to spend in his apartment alone, waiting for a call that won’t come.

His own thoughts are scathing enough in his head, but of course, Camille can’t resist. 

_You’re so_ beautiful _, Magnus, that he didn’t look back once as he left you._

  
  


If one thing has been certain since the start, it’s that Alexander is stubborn. He has razor sharp edges to his beliefs and if he believes something in his heart, he’ll build a steel wall around it and guard the entrance with a bow and arrow. His moral compass is hyper-attuned and final in its verdicts. So, Magnus isn’t surprised that he’s being ignored to this degree, but what perhaps his shadowhunter doesn’t know is that Magnus’ own dogged determination has been written about. 

He gives as good as he gets. He’s almost sure they’ll play some sort of game of apology chicken with each other until one of them perishes. 

But, then, the soul sword is activated and all hell breaks loose - literally.

**Author's Note:**

> my personality trait is starting a wip when i have two other wips


End file.
